


Happy Holidays

by vandoodle (orphan_account)



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Family, Fiddlestan Holiday Bonanza, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Mystery Trio, how will these morons fall in love THIS time??? [spins wheel]
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-06 10:20:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5413163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/vandoodle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I saw all these wonderful authors on tumblr posting cute holiday Fiddlestan fics and I said to myself: you can either watch all the fun or join in with your own dumb fics. So I decided to do just that. Warning: I'm almost incapible of writing drabbles. </p>
<p>Fiddleford has to cope with the Pines brothers during the holiday season. Winter mayhem ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. December 13th: Family, Glimmer, Warmth

The plant snapped at Fiddleford’s hand as he tried to take another sample.

“That’s… odd.” He said to no one in particular as he pulled back the scissors. Though, if the engineer had had to describe it, the word ‘odd’ was the perfect synonym for this whole place. From the monsters lurking in the woods to the eerie feeling the town itself gave off, everything was downright odd. Even the brothers he worked with were strange.

He could hear them off in the distance, heckling each other and laughing. Fiddleford had decided it was pointless to try and understand them; every time he thought he had one nailed down they would throw a curveball in his direction and the engineer would be right back where he started. The Pines brothers were weird, just like everything else in the town.

Which is why when a carnivorous plant popped up on the outskirts of the forest _in the middle of winter_ , he didn’t question it. Well, he did question it, but more through taking samples and studying its habits scientifically. It was a step up from what he had been doing his first few weeks in Gravity Falls, which had been reevaluating everything he had ever known and screaming. Lots of screaming.

The engineer was just about to try and snip the plant again when he heard a sudden shout pierce the calm winter air.

“Stanley!”

The voice, which he knew belonged to Stanford Pines, did not sound happy. No, in fact, it sounded absolutely furious.

It wasn’t much of a surprise when a certain boxer came sprinting into sight. He halted right before crashing into Fiddleford, heaving for breath as he grabbed the engineer’s shoulders.

“You gotta hide me.”

“Hello to you too, Stanley.” He said sarcastically, though his smile showed the truth that he was actually glad to see the other man. Stanford had been his friend for a long time, after their friendship in college the man was practically family. This went for Stanley too, who he had grown quite close since he began working with the two.

“Fidds, this is serious. I shoved snow down the back of Ford’s shirt and now he’s trying to kill me.”

The engineer fought the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose with his snow covered glove.

“Why on earth would you do that?”

“Because it was hilarious! C’mon, I really need to get away. Please! At least distract him or something.”

“Okay, okay! Fine.” He shook the man’s hands off his shoulders, feeling a loss with their presence gone. “You go out into the forest, and I’ll come get you when he’s gone.”

Stanley felt so positively happy he could kiss the engineer in celebration. Fiddleford was hoping he just might. But before the boxer could do something rash, he heard the furious shout of, “Lee!” from behind the house.

“Thanks.” He mouthed before heaving a deep breath and sprinting past the smaller man, into the forest. Fiddleford dusted off his gloves, shaking his head as he watched the man disappear among the trees.  He sighed, muttering to himself, “The things I do for Stanley Pines.”

He crouched back down, picking up his trowel to start shoveling snow away from the odd plant again. Of course, he was interrupted again but the sounds of feet stomping through the snow. The engineer counted down in his head until the inevitable.

_In 3, 2, 1…._

“Fiddleford.” Stanford’s voice had acquired a steely edge, giving away how vengeful he was. The engineer looked over his shoulder, eyeing the snowball (or more like and ice-and-pebble-ball) the scientist so readily held in his hands.

“Have you happened to see my brother around? He and I need to… _talk_.”

Fiddleford turned his attention back to the plant. He was a decent liar, as long as no one could see his face when he did so.

“I saw him run inside the Shack a few minutes ago. Why?”

“No reason. Thank you!”

When the elder twin had rushed off and Fiddleford had heard the Shack’s back screen door slam shut, he stood again from his spot, knees cracking loudly as he arose. He shoved his hands in his pockets, a small smile returning to his face. The twins were such children, no matter how hard Stanford tried to deny it.

Fiddleford made his way past the tree line, ducking under the low hanging branches of a pine tree. He kept his eyes focused on the larger footsteps leading his path, and the small clouds accumulating in the frigid air from his breath, shoes dragging along ice.

Snow was one of his biggest foes, right next to the likes of the Shapeshifter and Gremloblin. He came from the South, a place it hardly ever snowed and even when it did it was a few measly millimeters. When he came to Oregon, the man had been fascinated with the stuff, only to find out what a bother it was to have 3 feet of it blocking everything. He continued his trudge, so focused on the glimmering snow below him that he didn’t notice the man blocking his path.

Fiddleford stumbled back with an “Oof!” as he ran face first into the boxer’s chest. But before he could make contact with the icy ground, Stanley rushed forward to catch him. The engineer’s eyes widened at the sudden hands gripping the small of his back, snatching onto the edge of the boxer’s red jacket for support.

“Did you have a nice trip?” Stanley said, righting the smaller man. Fiddleford scowled at the pun, quickly releasing his hold on the coat as soon as his feet were planted on the ground.

“Ford thinks you’re in the house.” The engineer said, ignoring the joke completely. A crooked grin worked its way onto Stanley’s features; Fiddleford’s heart skipped a beat.

“Perfect. Let’s go before he finds us.”

The engineer blinked as Stanley began to walk further into the woods. He paused, before jogging to catch up.

“Wait, what?”

“C’mon, let’s go.” Stanley pointed past more trees.

“Oh no, _no,_ you got yourself into this. I’m going back inside, resting on the couch with a fleece blanket, and having some hot coffee.”

“You’re not gonna want to do that.”

“And why not?” Fiddleford stopped in his tracks, crossing his arms as he stared at the other man.

“Because once Ford realizes that I’m not in the house, and that you played him for a fool, he’s gonna come after you too. So we’re stuck together in this, like partners in crime.” Stanley said the phrase as if it was an honorable title, putting emphasis on it by waving his hands in a broad sweeping motion.

“Uh, no. You’re the one who committed the crime, you put snow down his shirt. I take no responsibility whatsoever.” And at Stanley’s skeptical look, he added, “Besides, what is he going to do to me? Make me come in to work _earlier_?”

The boxer’s countenance changed from doubting to wide eyed and warning.

“I don’t think you understand. Ford’s comin’ after both of us. I may be good at that brute strength stuff, but he’s got strategy. He used to beat me in snowball fights every year, all the other neighborhood kids too. One time he made Tommy Harris _cry_ because he knocked the guy down on his ass with one snowball. Of course it was hilarious, but you don’t wanna mess with him.”

Fiddleford gulped, the thought of how much he despised being covered in snow lingering in his mind. And if Ford knew he had lied to him, there would be no mercy.

“What’s the plan?” The engineer asked after a moment, eyes darting to check the perimeter of the forest. Stanley’s grin spread wider.

“I’ll show you.”

The boxer and engineer walked quickly through the snow, Fiddleford freezing at every branch snap and Stanley carefully, quietly telling him to keep moving. Finally, they arrived at their destination.

“You have _got_ to be kidding me.” Fiddleford griped, throwing an incredulous glance Stanley’s way.

The boxer had made an igloo. Well, not so much an igloo as a dome shaped snow fort. It looked sturdy enough, a little over three feet in height, the outer walls smooth and crackless.

“You made this in the fifteen minutes I left you alone?”

“Eh,” Stanley shrugged, “it’s just a skill I picked up from the streets. You know, make shelter fast in order to hide out. Plus it blends in pretty good with the rest of the snow, don’t ya think?” Fiddleford nodded numbly. He wasn’t going to argue. As ludicrous as this all was, all he wanted to do was get his cold, pink ears out of the wind.

Stanley crawled in first, and Fiddleford, still a little hesitant, followed after.

The inside was cramped. He had been expecting as much, the height of the thing demanded the walls be thick and compact in order to maintain stability; he was, after all, an engineer, he knew a good deal about architecture. Plus, Stanley probably hadn’t built it in mind for two people. It was a tight fit, he was squeezed shoulder to shoulder with the boxer. Not that he minded. At least his head didn’t scrape the ceiling and as long as he sat down, he could straighten his back.

“Welcome to my mansion,” Stanley voiced in a feigned snooty accent, earning a laugh from the engineer, “it has been passed down in our family for generations. On your left is the parlor, and on the right is the ballroom.”

“Where’s your apologizing-to-your-brother-so-your-wonderful-friend-Fiddleford-doesn’t-get-snowball’d room?”

“It’s under renovation. But, we do have the be-thankful-I-made-an-igloo room.”

Fiddleford snorted, leaning a bit more against the larger man.

“Well, I guess it’s better than being out in the wind. Or, out in the open where Stanford can murder me with snowballs.”

“Murder _us_ with snowballs.” The boxer corrected. “And it’s no biggie. I used to make these when Ford and I played in the snow as kids. Well, they were a lot smaller, and didn’t have a roof. They were more of a barricade than anything. But it worked.”

“The kids in Jersey sound vicious.” Fiddleford turned his head to face the boxer directly.

“Oh, they were. We-” Stanley paused trying to figure out how to make himself sound less pitiful, there was nothing he hated more than sounding pathetic, “We didn’t really have that many friends.” To be truthful, they had none. “But holy shit, when the winter weather came around we were kings.”

“Well now you have both: winter weather and friends.” Fiddleford smiled up at him. Stanley laughed, giving the engineer a playful shove with his shoulder.

“I thought I was a ‘big, annoying, brute’.” The boxer joked, using air quotes. Fiddleford wasn’t proud about how he had first looked down on the younger Pines twin, thinking of the man so lowly. But that had been a long time ago and things had changed. The engineer had gotten to know Stanley for who he was, someone who underneath all the jokes and toughness, genuinely cared.

“You’re a good person, Stanley.” Fiddleford said quietly, simply, so earnest the boxer in question was taken aback.

Silence fell over the two. The engineer filled it by taking off his soaked gloves and rubbing his hands together in an attempt to warm them, feeling Stanley’s eyes locked onto him the entire time. Fiddleford clasped his hands near his mouth, blowing warm air into the gap between his palms.

“Are you cold?”

“That’s the understatement of the year.” The engineer replied, watching as his words disappeared into wispy fog.

“You can use my jacket if you want.”

Fiddleford frantically shook his head, eyes widening at the offer.

“N-No. I’m good, thanks.”

“Fidds, you’re shaking like a leaf.”

“I’m fine. I just-” The engineer bit his lip, considering his next words carefully. “It wouldn’t be very fair if you got cold either.”

The two locked gazes, Fiddleford’s mouth going dry. He was sure Stanley could see right through him. Just then, the boxer’s eyes widened, the corner of his mouth quirking up. The smaller man knew that look: Stanley had an idea.

“Okay, how about this?”

Before Fiddleford could argue, the boxer had pulled him into his lap. The engineer stiffened, holding still as a statue as Stanley pulled his arms out of the red coat, stretching the fabric to enfold them both. The engineer gripped jacket’s zipper, holding the ends in place around them as Stanley removed his hands.

“Is that any better?”

All Fiddleford could do was nod frantically. He was just thankful he was facing away from the boxer, so the other man didn’t see how red his face had gotten. It rivalled the shade of the coat.

“Relax Fidds, I’m not gonna bite.” When the engineer didn’t relax, and in fact seemed to grow more tense, he added, “If you’re worried about Stanford, don’t be. Push comes to shove, I’d take a snowball for you. So stop freaking out.”

That was Stanley, the man who could read everyone but him. He could see through the most professional poker face, know exactly when someone was lying, but was too self-deprecating to see how hard the engineer had fallen.  

Fiddleford took a sharp breath, and slackened, feeling his back settle gently against the boxer’s chest. He let himself loosen up, bit by bit, until he felt comfortable again, snuggled against his companion. He let himself be lulled by the gentle rise and fall of his companion's chest

“Are you still cold?”

He shook his head. No, he was plenty warm. The furred lining of the coat, coupled with the body heat of the boxer and the warmth that had rushed to his face, made for the same feeling the engineer got by a fire. _We should build igloos more often_ , he thought as he nestled against the larger’s sweater. _  
_

“You can tell me if you are. I mean, you’re still shivering.” Stanley commented as he slowly, almost hesitantly, snaked his arms around the engineer’s midsection. Fiddleford’s breath hitched in his throat, the boxer blind to the real reason he was shaking.

“I’m fine, r-really.”

He noticed Stanley shrug before the man rested his chin against the engineer’s shoulder.

“Whatever.”

Fiddleford closed his eyes, feeling the boxer’s stubble scratch against his neck. He hadn’t felt this serene in, well to put it shortly, a very long time. The twins usually ran him ragged but this, this was comfortable, peaceful. He could have dozed off if he could put aside the fact that Stanford had a snowball with his name on it.

“Ford has probably given up the search by now.” Stanley’s words broke the content silence and came as a small jolt to the engineer as they weremuttered against his neck. He blinked his eyes a couple times; maybe he had been dozing off after all. Stanley was just so _warm_. “We could head back to the Shack if you want.”

“No, I-” He gulped, the next words tripped out in a rush, “I like being here with you.”  He held his breath as Stanley’s arms tightened around him. Fiddleford dropped his hand down, moving it to rest on the boxer’s forearm as he entwined their fingers.

A stick snapped outside the igloo, the two inside too engrossed in each other to notice.

There was a furious screech, followed by Stanford’s foot kicking through the side of the igloo. The two fell back, in a tangle of limbs. Fiddleford recognized the boot stuck in the snowy wall. He and the boxer exchanged a scared glance before screaming.

“Cheese it!” Stanley shouted, scooping up the engineer in his arms before dashing out of the newfound gap in the wall.

Stanford struggled to remove his lodged foot from the snow, pulling backwards as he trying to free himself. So this wasn’t his best idea, but he had wanted to make an entrance big enough to spook the two, to teach them a lesson. He launched the snowball he had in hand towards his brother, Stanley ducking in time for it to sail over his head. And, _oh great_ , now he was out of ammunition.

The boxer paused, turning to find his brother, one leg raised in the air and mad as a hornet. The man laughed so hard he nearly dropped Fiddleford, who in return squeaked and clutched his arms tighter around the larger’s neck.

“Stop laughing, immediately! We live in the same house, I can get you back at any time.”

Stanley froze. Oh right, he had to sleep some time, and he most certainly didn’t want to be rudely awoken by being covered in snow.

“We could always lock him out.” Fiddleford suggested. Stanford paled, his struggle becoming more violent.

The boxer’s smile returned at that, warmth blossoming in his chest as Fiddleford played along. They could keep the scientist out of the house, and maybe have enough alone time to convince the engineer to cuddle with him by the fire. He’d like that. Perhaps they could sit like that for hours uninterrupted.

“Stanley,” Stanford fumed, trying to unlace his boot, “if you lock me out, I swear I will-”

“I’ll grab the spare key if you lock the back door, Fidds.”

“Deal.”

With a snort, Stanley began to sprint for the house, still holding the engineer tightly, and ignoring the angry stream of swears flooding from his brother’s mouth.

It was going to be a good day.


	2. December 17th: Sweaters, Kiss, Flurries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some mistletoe mishaps leave Stanley and Fiddleford very confused about where they stand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the super long breaks I'm taking between my fics, finals week is finally here. I encourage you all to put me out of my misery.
> 
> I'm going to do the rest of these, and try to update every day until the 22nd. Thank you for baring with me!
> 
> Trigger warnings: drinking

**The three times Fiddleford McGucket got caught underneath the mistletoe.**

**#1**

“I do _not_ have a girly scream!”

“Listen, Fidds, when Ford was coming after us and you screamed, I had to double check to make sure I picked up the right person.”

“Well, you screamed too!”

“Yeah, but mine’s macho.”

Stanford snorted, watching the two bicker after breakfast had become a morning routine. He had long forgotten the newspaper in his hands; this was far more entertaining. Both he and his brother agreed there were a number of things not as funny as getting a rise out of Fiddleford, only Stanley had the guts to actually provoke the man. The scientist sipped on his coffee as Fiddleford angrily scrubbed the dishes.

“Stanford.” The engineer snapped at the man sitting at the table, who in turn choked on his drink. “Do I have a girly scream?”

Stanley stopped drying the cup he had in his hand to shoot his twin a serious look. Fiddleford gave him just as stern of a glare.

“I’m staying out of this.” He held up two six-fingered hands in defeat.

“Boo! No fair. Tell Fidds how high-pitched his scream is.”

“I don’t-,” Fiddleford seethed before setting his jaw and starting out in a more civil tone. “Stanford, tell your brother that screams are naturally high-pitched because of the frequency at which-”

“Oh my God, so you do admit you have a girly scream!”

“No, that’s not what I was saying!”

“Gentlemen!” Stanford interrupted the chaos, barely containing the smile spreading across his lips. “I believe that Fiddleford is correct about screams naturally being high-pitched.” The engineer in question grinned triumphantly at the boxer.

“ _But_ ,” Stanford continued, “Fiddleford, you really do have a girly scream.”

“Oh, come _on_!”

The scientist stood, folding the newspaper and placing it on the table as he moved to leave before the chaos erupted.  Fiddleford turned off the water, following at Ford’s heels.

“You can seriously think that he’s right about this!”

“It’s just my opinion.” Stanford said, pausing in the doorway.

“Yeah, it’s just his totally right opinion.” Stanley called, leaning against the counter as he finished the dishes. He folded his arms across his chest, smirking that he had won the battle. It wasn’t often that his brother agreed with him.

“Yeah, well my opinion is that your pancakes are too dry.” Fiddleford hissed, stopping in the doorway as he stomped his foot on the ground.

“Oh, now that’s uncalled f-”

The boxer stopped midsentence, his eyes locked on something above Stanford and Fiddleford’s heads in horror. The two followed his gaze up, finding the clipping of mistletoe above their heads.

Stanley’s carefully calculated scheme had backfired. His fists clenched at his sides. He had bought mistletoe, actually bought it with cash and not just slipped it into his pocket as he did with so many other things. The boxer was determined to get at least one smooch from Fiddleford this holiday season, and what better excuse than mistletoe? He had carefully watched the doorway all morning for the engineer, only to find him entering the kitchen through the alternate route.

And now this.

He felt his blood run cold.

Neither Stanford nor Fiddleford felt the pierce of fear the boxer had, though. They had lived together for three years in college, and even longer worked with each other. They were comfortable enough in their friendship, and confident enough in their sexually to be nonchalant. Fiddleford gave the man a quick peck on the cheek before the two carried on as if nothing had happened.

“So, about the portal. I was thinking that…” Stanford’s voice grew fainter as the two walked down the stairs to the lab.

Stanley remained frozen in place, stunned.

_This is fine_ , he told himself, as he began to pace, nails digging into his arms. _It was just a little kiss on the cheek! Nothing big_. There was absolutely nothing for him to be worried about. Just because Fiddleford kissed his brother-- and _oh God_ did his stomach churn at that-- didn’t mean that anything would happen!

_But what if something does happen?_

No, no, Ford knew of his crush. Hell, his brother teased him over it every second he got. There was no way that his twin would screw him over like this. Stanford was a bit of a jerk, but not to that degree. They both understood boundaries.

But still, the boxer felt uneasy. Not to mention, incredibly jealous that he hadn’t been the first of the twins to get a kiss from the engineer.

Stanley grabbed his car keys as he rushed out the door, determined to find a secluded enough place so he could scream his frustrations away without being heard.

**#2**

“Stanley this has got to be your worst idea ever.”

The boxer groaned in response, his slurred speech muffled by the floor he was face down against. He didn’t bother to push himself up, even when he heard the socked footsteps he knew were Fiddleford’s enter the kitchen. He could hear the engineer’s feet tapping across the linoleum even now, only this time out of agitation.

“And I can’t believe he suckered you into this too, Ford.”

The scientist sat up a little straighter in his chair, pushing up his skewed glasses. He overturned the shot glass in his hands, glass clinking as he placed it on the wooded table. The boxer had challenged him to the annual holiday drink off, a mixture of 1 part eggnog and 3 parts bourbon.

“Doc, ’m fine.” Fiddleford could tell by Stanford’s flushed cheeks that, no, he was not fine.

“How much have you had to drink?”

“Eight- no, nine shots.”

“Twelve! I win!” The engineer shook his head at the boxer’s muffled shout from under the table, followed by a belch. He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. These boys would be the death of him, he was sure of it. Stanford pouted, sliding his chair back against the floor with a squeak.

“Y-you cheated.” The scientist slurred, glaring at the back of his brother’s head as he crossed his arms.

“No I didn’t!” Stanley asserted, throwing his hand up limply in an attempt to slap his brother’s leg.

“It doesn’t matter which one of you ‘won’.” Fiddleford sighed. “You both need to go to bed and sleep this off. It’s midnight.”

“That’s the best i-idea I’ve heard all week.” Stanford muttered, wobbling up from his chair. The engineer put a hand on the man’s shoulder to steady him, but the scientist waved him off.

“I can make it on my- my own, Doc. Thanks, pal.” Stanford clapped him on the back, ambling out into the hallway. Luckily, the scientist’s room was on the first floor. Unlucky for Stanley, his room was on the second.

Fiddleford nudged the man under the table with a foot.

“Stanley?”

“What?” The boxer croaked, angling his head so that only the side pressed against the cool tiles.

“You have to get up now.” He said gently, accent showing more than usual now that he was tired. The twins had woken him up from a peaceful slumber with all of their hollering. He had thought gnomes had overrun the kitchen again.

The boxer made a displeased noise in response, rolling onto his back. Stanley bumped his head on the underside of the table as he attempted to sit up, muttering, “Ow…” before slumping back over. Fiddleford couldn’t stop the loud, braying laugh that followed. He crouched down, rubbing a hand along the boxer’s back.

“Come on, Stan, take baby steps. You need to get to bed.”

Stanley sighed, long and drawn out, before anchoring to the table with a hand and tugging himself upright. He lurched forward, grabbing onto the smaller man before finding his footing.

“Sorry Fidds…” The boxer mumbled, a hazy smile on his face. Fiddleford tried to steady his breathing in order to respond.

“It’s- it’s fine!” Fiddleford exclaimed as the boxer used the smaller’s shoulder to help himself walk straight. “Let’s get you up to bed. You’re gonna have a hell of a headache tomorrow. It’s a good thing I know a bit about medicine, or you’d be-”

Stanley’s hand clamped on the doorway, and for a moment, Fiddleford was afraid he had fallen asleep standing up. Then the man turned his head, a lopsided grin spread across his face. Fiddleford quirked an eyebrow, questioning silently. Stanley responded by pointing up.

The engineer didn’t have to let his gaze wander to suddenly realize what was hanging above their heads. He felt his cheeks heat up as Stanley gradually, achingly slow, closed the distance between them, chests brushing as the boxer inched closer.

He stood still, caught like a deer in the headlights as the man tilted his chin upwards. Stanley kissed him, the engineer tasting the alcohol on his lips before he carefully allowed himself to kiss back.  

As soon as Stanley felt the engineer’s response he changed tactics, moving them backwards until the man’s spine was pressed against the wall. Fiddleford yelped as the boxer deepened the kiss and pressed more forcefully against the engineer. Mistletoe kisses were chaste and sweet in his experience, nothing like what this was dissolving into. In the second his mouth had opened in surprise, the boxer slid his tongue inside.

Fiddleford’s hand’s clenched against the wall as he hummed gratefully against the boxer’s lips, allowing himself to sink into the kiss as Stanley’s thumb rubbed circles into his hip.

The engineer stopped himself. Something about this… wasn’t right. Stanley was plastered. He probably had no idea what he was doing. And even if he was aware of his actions right now, the engineer could see where this was heading, and he certainly didn’t want their first time to be nothing more than a drunken mistake. He didn’t want to be used because the boxer happened to be feeling flirty, he wanted it to be out of tenderness. Even if it meant costing him the opportunity to be with the other man.

He pulled away.

“Stan, I don’t think- ” He started before his voice fell short as said man moved to attack the engineer’s neck with a line of slick kisses. The boxer bit down on the soft flesh of his throat. Fiddleford shivered, pressing his hands against the Stanley’s chest harder, managing to push the boxer off

“Stanley. You’re drunk.” He tried again, fighting to keep his voice steady. Stanley looked back at him with bleary eyes.

“No, ‘m not.”

The boxer’s series of slow, confused blinks turned into something more as his eyes closed entirely. Fiddleford grabbed his arm before the man could lose his balance, Stanley jolting back awake. The engineer gently took his hand.

“Come on, I don’t think we’re getting you upstairs tonight.”

The boxer nodded, the engineer’s voice sounding like faint gibberish in his ears. He was being lead, he knew that much, Fiddleford’s grip keeping him barely conscious. They stopped, Stanley feeing the plush fabric he recognized as the sofa brush against his legs. He wanted to say thank you, but all that came out was a grunt as he flopped onto the couch.

He woke up the next morning with a blanket draped across him, the worst head ache he had had in ages, and a newfound meaning of the word ‘mortified’.

**#3**

“I fucked up, Ford.”

Stanley leaned back against the bathroom cabinet. He had finished puking his guts out and he still felt terrible. The boxer knew it wasn’t just because of the pounding headache threatening to explode from behind his eyes.

“You always fuck up.” Came Stanford’s groaned response. The scientist was curled up in the bathtub, a pack of frozen peas pressed to his forehead.

The boxer ran a hand down his face in worry.

He had woken up this morning, confused as to what he had dreamed, and what had actually occurred. Stanley knew the answer as soon as Fiddleford stepped into the living room. The boxer could have cut through the tension with a knife, suddenly finding himself feeling very out of place.

“Hey.” He had managed to get out. The engineer made brief eye-contact with the boxer, before hustling back upstairs to his room, where he had spent the rest of the morning avoiding Stanley.

 Most of last night was still a foggy haze, but he remembered pushing the engineer against the wall and then being forced off. He remembered Fiddleford’s momentarily panicked countenance. Stanley knew he had ruined everything.

“Alright, what did you do? Tell me.” Stanford said slowly, leaning over the edge of the tub to face his brother. Stanley wasn’t the type for telling emotions, or spilling secrets. The only reason Ford had found out about his crush in the first place was he had tricked it out of him. But now, he was looking for help. He had demolished something very dear to him and hadn’t the slightest clue how to fix it.

“Last night… I kissed Fiddleford.”

“Mazel tov.”

“No, he- he didn’t take it very well.” Stanley nervously tapped his fingers together, looking away from his brother.

“ _Oh_. So that’s why he wouldn’t come out of his room when I knocked this morning.”

“Argh! Don’t tell me that. You’re the worst at bedside manner.”

“That’s why I’m not a medical doctor.” He sighed, pulling himself from the tub, frozen peas left behind.

“C’mon let’s go see if we can win him back with some pancakes.”

Stanley nodded glumly, the world spinning as he got up too fast. He swallowed the bile that arose in his throat. Stanford patted his shoulder, tossing his twin a pitying look as he guiding him out the door.

His brother froze, hand clenching up on his arm.

“Good morning, Fiddleford.” Stanley’s head snapped up at his brother’s words. Fiddleford’s green turtleneck engulfed the engineer, the knitted sleeves rolled up past his elbows to keep it from covering his hands. He turned away before he could meet Stanley’s eyes, occupying himself with grabbing his coat from the rack hanging by the door.

“Good morning, Stanford.”

“Going somewhere?”

“Just goin’ on a little walk.” Fiddleford hustled to shove on his gloves, haphazardly wrapping a scarf around his neck. “I won’t be gone long, I-I just need a little fresh air.”

And with that, Fiddleford darted out the front door.

The twins blinked in unison before sharing a concerned look.

“Well, are you going to go after him?” Stanford asked after a pregnant pause.

“Should I? He didn’t look like he wanted to see me.”

“Stanley,” Ford gave him a condescending frown, “I’m not good at romances, but I’ve sat through enough romantic comedies with you and I’m positive this is the part where you drop everything and run out into the snow after him.”

The boxer set his jaw, clenching his palms as he stared at the door. He had made a mistake, and now he was the only one who fix it. Stanley snatched his jacket from the coat rack, pulling it on after he opened the door and rushed after the engineer.

His romantic gesture of running out was all for naught; turning, he saw Fiddleford, still on the porch, sitting very still on the couch.

The engineer blinked in surprise at the other man. Fiddleford had a bad habit of dealing with his problems by running away from them, ignoring them completely for weeks at a time until it became overwhelming. And that’s exactly what he had planned to do with what had happened between him and Stanley Pines the night before.

“Is… Is this seat taken?” Stanley asked, pointing to the worn green sofa.

Fiddleford shook his head, gaze falling back to the wooden planks as the boxer sat on the other end. Stanley couldn’t help but stare, watching as the man’s eyes darted anxiously, looking anywhere but at him. The boxer cleared his throat, folding his fingers together to ease his nerves.

“Fidds, I’m sorry. I didn’t- I didn’t mean to scare you last night. I was drunk and _I know_ that’s not an excuse,” He inwardly cringed at the stream of ungraceful apologies coming out of his mouth, “but I didn’t know what I was doing and I just let myself go. I would never try to pull something like that on you. You’re my best friend.”

The engineer bit his lip, wringing his gloved hands as he refused to move his stare from the ground.

“Fidds, it was… it was a mistake. I didn’t mean any of it.” Stanley smoothly lied; he had meant quite a bit of it, and obviously the engineer did not feel the same. “Can we just go back to being friends and pretend this didn’t happen?”

Fiddleford finally met the man’s hopeful gaze, his mouth going dry. Friends. Of course. He swallowed thickly, trying to push down the lump that arose in his throat. He had been the one to push the other away, and in that he had crushed all hopes for the boxer returning his feelings.  They were just friends, nothing more; Stanley felt nothing. He chastised himself for lingering on the idea that something would come of this. That even though it was a shot in the dark, that a small part of the boxer had wanted to kiss him and it wasn’t just the booze talking.

The engineer sighed, responding by unwrapping the scarf from his neck and reaching up to wind it around the boxer’s.

“You really should bundle up more before you go outside; you’ll catch your death.” He said slowly, offering the boxer a small, patient smile. Stanley returned the grin.

“I wasn’t so worried about being cold. There was a nerd in trouble because of me and I had to help.”

Fiddleford scoffed, he didn’t think the term ‘nerd’ could be so endearing. He glanced up as the flurries started again, Stanley averting his eyes when he caught a glimpse of a bruise peeking out from behind the engineer’s sweater. He felt a sickening mixture of pride and disgust that he had been the one to mark up the man’s skin.

The sun was out, shining through the pink snow clouds and pine branches. Fiddleford hoped maybe it would be enough to melt this icy weather. The boxer followed his gaze, smiling as the small bits of snow dusted their shoes.

They must have both spotted it at the same time, the two men halting in unison as they picked out the hanging, hemi parasitic plant that had caused this whole conundrum. Stanley blinked, watching as the engineer slowly let out his breath.  The boxer had completely forgotten about hanging mistletoe on the porch.

“This is dumb.” Stanley mused, shaking his head. “Fidds, we don’t have to do this. I mean this whole tradition was made by idiots. Why the hell does a plant make people kiss in the winter?”

The boxer bit the inside of his cheek, realizing he was rambling.

“Point being, if this makes you uncomfortable, I’ll burn every last one of these dumb plants.”

Stanley paused when he felt Fiddleford’s hands on his cheeks, pulling him down for the gentlest kiss he had ever had. It left the boxer seeing stars, even after the short moment was up and the other had pulled away.

“Let’s head back inside before this turns into a blizzard.” The engineer said, back turned to his companion. If that was going to be their last kiss, he was glad it was something sweet enough to cherish.

“Yeah,” Stanley agreed, clearing his throat as he walked side by side with the engineer, careful to leave enough space between them. He hoped the blush dusting his cheeks wasn’t enough to give him away.  The engineer was just too impossibly adorable; he’d have to punch like seven walls to make himself feel manly again.

“I’ll even make you some pancakes.” The boxer said, his hand on the doorknob.

“I’d like that.”

The door was locked.

Stanley realized with a grimace it was payback.

“Ford!” He yelled, banging a fist against the door. His twin waved smugly at the two of them from the window, holding a steaming cup of coffee. He looked on as his brother slowly took a sip of the warm beverage, grin never leaving his face.

“Stanford Pines if you don’t open up this door right now…” Fiddleford hissed, crossing his arms.

“What was that? Sorry I can’t hear you. Did you say _lock the door_?”

“I’m gonna lock your face!”

“Good one, Stanley.” Stanford replied wryly, rolling his eyes. “Anyways, I think I’m going to go sit down on the couch with a warm blanket, maybe make some pancakes, and watch that Rocky movie marathon they’re having on TV.”

Stanley flipped his brother off through the window, muttering a stream of curses.

Stanford happily closed the curtains.


	3. December 18th: Ribbon, Laughter, Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stanley hates Christmas songs and Fiddleford attempts to make himself feel better. Based on an actualy conversation I had.

Fiddleford McGucket was very certain of two things.

One, he did not like bars. Who even thought it was a good idea to bring a recovering alcoholic to a bar anyways? Apparently, Stanford Pines did.

Two, that he absolutely hated crowds. And pretty much parties in general. College was one thing, where he had people he knew and he could drink until his anxieties became a faint buzzing in the back of his mind. But this, this was very different.

Stanford and Fiddleford had made a name for themselves in town, especially with a young lumberjack fondly nicknamed ‘Manly’ Dan. He had been trying to get his logging service back on its feet after he took over the company from his Father, but there had been several bumps along the way, including broken chainsaws and other machinery. This is where they had stepped in, helping him with minor fixes for a small fee.

In return, the man had invited them to his annual Christmas party. The bar had been decorated from top to bottom, ribbon hanging from the ceiling, ornaments ordaining the stools, even a large tree placed in the center of the room.

And, with Fiddleford’s terrible luck, he had lost _both_ twins in the crowd the moment he walked in. He had distanced himself from the horde of people as much as possible, putting him near the open bar.

He dug his nails into the inside of his pockets.

This was bad.

Fiddleford’s eyes scanned the crowd again, looking for any signs of the Pines. They weren’t exactly hard to miss, tall and broad shouldered, but he still saw hide nor hair of the two.

But he had spotted something else.

It the back, like a blissful mirage, was a door to the secluded alleyway beside the bar. He sucked in a deep breath; now all he had to do was navigate through the sea of bodies to get to it.

The engineer shoved his hands further inside his coat pockets, biting down on the inside of his cheek, and praying to whatever was listening that he could make it through this without embarrassing himself in front of a mob of people. He found the first open spot his eyes locked onto and forced his legs to move before he could have second thoughts.

“Excuse me,” he apologized to the woman he bumped into, sliding behind her as he edged deeper into the crowd. _You can do this_ , he told himself, repeating it like a mantra. All he needed to do was squeeze by a few more people. But his throat was closing, and so many people were touching him as he moved by, muttering apologies.

The engineer grit his teeth together as his chest caught on the exhale; he felt like there wasn’t even enough room to _breathe_. It was suffocating and far too hot, pressed close to all the people he didn’t know. Sweat trickled down his neck; Fiddleford shuddered. He wasn’t going to make it, he just knew it. He was going to freak out in front of all of these people and he couldn’t find his friends and-

The engineer stumbled free, finding footing in the gap between the crowd and the backdoor.

His shaking hands fumbled for the doorknob for a moment before he wrenched it open and stumbled outside. Fiddleford closed the door, sinking down to the cold cement in the alley.

The engineer gasped for breath as he wrapped his arms around himself. That had been close. Fiddleford leaned his head back against the brick, pressing the heel of his palms against his eyes.

“Oh, hey Fidds.” Fiddleford practically jumped out of his skin at the warm voice. He mutely whipped around, spotting Stanley perched upon the hood of his El Diablo, parked right underneath the no parking sign.

“Why aren’t you partying?” The boxer questioned, flicking the ash from his cigarette.

“Uh,” Fiddleford gulped, “I’m- I’m not one for parties. I can’t really deal with crowds.” The boxer nodded, scooting over and patting the place next to him. The engineer placed himself on the red hood, the metal still hot from the engine.

“Are you okay? You look kinda pale.”

Fiddleford quickly nodded, too ashamed to admit he had almost had a panic attack. ‘Almost’ being the key word, he could still feel the threat lingering. He kept his arms snuggly wound around himself, trying to stop the shaking and calm himself back down. Stanley frowned, offering an arm to the engineer; Fiddleford took it, holding on so tightly his knuckles went white.

“Why aren’t you inside mingling?” The engineer asked, trying to keep casual.

Stanley shrugged, “Can’t smoke inside.”

The boxer looked from his arm, to his companion, concerned gaze raking over the engineer. Fiddleford felt naked, all of his insecurities exposed. Stanley knew how to read people, and he could tell by the man’s trembling hands that Fiddleford was not as okay as he claimed.

“It’s kind of chilly out here. Wanna sit inside the Stanleymobile and listen to awful Christmas music?”

Fiddleford nodded quickly, not letting go of Stanley’s arm until he was seated in the back. The boxer tried to pull his arm away as he backed out of the door; the engineer bit his lip, holding on tighter.

“It’s okay,” He soothed, running his hand over the Fiddleford’s, “I’m just gonna turn on the radio, then I’ll be right back.”

Stanley, true to his word, opened the driver’s side to turn on the heater and the holiday music station before sliding into the backseat next to his friend. The engineer immediately latched back onto his arm. The boxer placed his hand over Fiddleford’s, running a thumb over his companion’s knuckles.

The engineer slowly felt himself unwind, the nausea leaving his stomach. He was safe with Stanley, and with him it felt like there were no other people in the world. His first deep breath was shaky, but it was an improvement from the quick huffs that had been battering his lungs.

“Better?” Stanley asked, eyes shifting to the engineer.

“Much.” Fiddleford replied quietly, leaning his head against the other’s shoulder. They listened to Bing Crosby sing about a white Christmas, the thump of the party seeming so distance to the slow music. Stanley hummed along quietly as the song finished, the engineer’s grip loosening as he calmed down.

The song changed; Stanley groaned, recognizing the tune that had been antagonizing him since the day after Thanksgiving. He would have leapt up in an instant to change it if not for the engineer pressed so comfortably against his side.

“This song is the worst thing that’s ever been invented.”

“You don’t like ‘Grandma Got Ran Over by a Reindeer?’” Fiddleford suppressed a laugh, and the urge to turn it up louder.

“No, I _hate_ it.”

“Why?”

Stanley frowned, mentally going over everything wrong with it.

“Well, the lyrics are cheap,”

“That’s harsh.”

“It’s just annoying in general,”

“Fair point…”

“And there’s just so much left unexplained!” Stanley threw his free hand up in the air in exasperation, frowning as the singer’s voice grated on his eardrums. Fiddleford raised an eyebrow, a silent question for the boxer to elaborate.

“Grandma just _happened_ to get run over by a reindeer?”

The boxer rolled his eyes. “The way I figure it, Santa’s been driving his sleigh for hundreds of years, and you’re telling me he still doesn’t know when to brake in time so he doesn’t hit anyone? I mean, he’s got fucking magic powers or whatever, why didn’t he stop?”

Fiddleford sat up a little straighter, leaning forward in excitement as a smile spread across his lips. This was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard, and he had listen to Stanford go one for hours about lizardpeople.

“You’ve put serious thought into a Christmas song about a Grandmother being hit by deer?”

“Yes! I mean think about it. She just _happened_ to be outside, in the snow, _at night_ , and Santa just _happened_ to come down right on top of her and squish her like an ant?”

The engineer laughed, covering his mouth with a hand. Stanley wore the countenance of someone deadly serious, eyebrows furrowed down, like he had done his extensive research about Christmas music.

“Are you suggesting premeditative murder? _With Santa_?”

“I mean, let’s look at the facts. We got Grandma, alone, going out to her car on Christmas. Grandpa doesn’t make any effort to help her, so I figure their relationship isn’t the most stable. Now Santa, he’s kind of an old fella too…”

Fiddleford gasped aloud, before quietly whispering, “They had a secret affair!” Stanley nodded enthusiastically, crooked grin spreading now that the engineer was catching on to the madness. He continued on the tangent, glad to see it was helping the engineer cheer up.

“Things got a little out of hand and Santa wanted to end it. Permanently.” Stanley feigned taking off a hat and placing it over his chest in respect, looking dramatically into the distance. “A crime of passion…”

“I think you’ve uncovered one of Stanford’s conspiracies.”

“All I’m sayin’ is, if I was little Timmy or whatever the kid’s name was, then I would be suing Santa for everything he’s got. I mean, he must have a fortune!” Fiddleford snorted, he could practically see dollar signs in Stanley’s eyes.

“But you’d ruin Christmas.”

“I’m Jewish.” Stanley said triumphantly, looking smug. “It’s the perfect crime.”

Fiddleford laughed until he cried, covering up his face with his hands as he threw his head back. Stanley’s heart thumped faster; he truly took pride in the moments when he could make the engineer _really laugh_. Not the kind where he covered it up by snorting or let it die in his throat, but when Fiddleford let everything go.

It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He didn’t even care if in the background he could still hear that tragedy of a Christmas song.

Maybe there was still hope for them.

When the man had finally quieted down, Stanley looked away, clearing his throat.

“Let’s go get Ford and call it a night. Or,” he interrupted his own sentence when the idea occurred to him, “we could just drive off and make him do the walk of shame all the way back to the Shack.”

“That’s too harsh. Besides, I thought we were even now. We locked him out, and he locked us out.” Fiddleford said with a small smile, brain dizzy from endorphins.

“I don’t play to get even. I play to win.” Stanley paused, thinking aloud. “How about we drive him back to the Shack with us, but I’ll lock his door and we can run in and get inside before him. _Then_ we can lock him out.”

Fiddleford shook his head. This day had started out bad, and the boxer had singlehandedly turned it around. Stanley always knew how to cheer him up, how to give him hope again. Even if his methods weren’t the most conventional.

“Okay, deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies that this chapter was mostly dialogue. I don't have anything planned for the next day, but if I have time I may write a little something extra. But, good news, I do have the last three days planned out, so there will definitely be something on the 20th, 21st, and 22nd.
> 
> Trigger warnings: Claustrophpobia and Ochlophobia (fear of crowds)


	4. December 20th: Memories, Snowball Fight, Cooking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's better than a snowball fight on a cold winter morning? Lots of things actually, like being warm and snug in a bed. Too bad for Fiddleford.

Fiddleford stirred the hot chocolate packet into the milk, watching as it dissolved before moving to the two other cups.

He couldn’t help but smile to himself at the thought of the Pines brothers, Stanley in particular, coming back inside to hot chocolate. The last time he had made it for the man, the boxer was so happy he had hugged Fiddleford tight and swung him around. It was a fond memory he kept close to his heart, both of the boxer’s excitement and of his own breathlessness. The engineer knew they would be ecstatic to have something warm, especially after spending the last ten minutes outside in the cold.

The Stanleymobile’s engine had frozen over, and Stanley (although he did not want to admit it) needed help getting the old car running again. Stanford had followed his twin outside, hot water and spatula at the ready, prepared to scrap the ice off.

Final cup in hand, Fiddleford paused, wondering why they had been outside so long. Surely the boiling water had done the trick. Maybe they were having more trouble than he thought.

Fiddleford placed the mug on the table before leaving the room entirely. He pulled on his boots and coat, wrapping the fleece scarf around his neck and heading for the door. He was an engineer after all, maybe he could help the boxer out with his predicament. He built robots, how hard could a car motor be?

The engineer had to force the door open, still a little frozen around the hinges after last night’s snowfall. His boots crunched in the snow as he stepped out; even the porch had been dusted in a layer of snow.

Fiddleford stopped in his tracks when he spotted the twins.

“Ack, Ford! You hit me right in the head-!” Stanley’s sentence fell short at the arrival of the third man.

The boxer quickly made an attempt to brush the snow out of his hair, before another snowball flew over his head. Stanley ducked behind the snow barrier. Honestly, the boxer was proud it held up so well. He had made it himself in two measly minutes after throwing the first snowball.

Now it was war.

Stanford’s head popped out from behind the hood of the El Diablo, eyes snapping to the engineer. The scientist waved to the man on the porch, motioning for him to join him.

Stanley voiced his concerns more vocally, tuffs of brown hair bouncing into view from behind the snow barricade.

“Wait, Fidds no! Don’t join him; he’s evil!”

“You were the one to throw the first snowball. While my back was turned, no less!” Stanford countered, glaring at his brother. “Get over here, Doc, unless you want to be on _the losing side_.”

Fiddleford tottered uneasily from foot to foot as he wrung his hands. Was it an option to just go back inside and avoid being pelted by snowballs? He knew by the competitive looks in the twins’ eyes that no, that was not an option.

The engineer knew it was safer with Stanford, he had heard the boxer’s horror stories of winter mayhem caused by the older twin. But, Fiddleford could also go with Stanley, the one he was so fond of. With a sigh, he made a dash for the Stanleymobile, ducking behind it next to Stanford.

“You can’t be _serious_!” The engineer heard Stanley yell. The scientist handed him a snowball with a smug smile. Stanford silently counted off, holding up three fingers. When they reached one, the two leapt up.

Stanley was standing, still incredulous to the engineer’s choice, only his lower half shielded by the snow.

Fiddleford threw the snowball. It soared across the yard and completely missed the boxer. Stanford’s snowball barely clipped the other man’s shoulder,

“You throw like my Bubbe!” Stanley shouted, crouching down as he snatched up an armful of snowballs.

Fiddleford’s eyes widened in shock at the amount the boxer had stockpiled, frozen as the snow beneath his feet as Stanley launched the projectile. Snow exploded on impact as it hit Fiddleford’s nose; the smaller man squeaked, rapidly wiping snow from his face as Stanford retaliated.

Fiddleford scowled as he fixed his glasses, hearing Stanley’s booming laughter from behind him. The engineer ducked down, scooping the snow around him into a compact sphere.

If Stanley wanted a fight, a fight he would get.

This time Fiddleford’s snowball was a direct hit, hitting the boxer in the center of his chest. The boxer’s taunting sneers were cut short as he fell backwards. Stanford high-sixed the engineer, glad he wasn’t the one that glare was focused on.

Stanley pulled himself back up, crouched behind the snow wall. He watched as more snowballs came precariously close to his head. Okay, so Fiddleford had been much better than he had expected. Stanford was already a machine at throwing snowballs, and the engineer had too much pent up anger. Looking back on it, he probably shouldn’t have egged both of them on with taunting; they were the perfect snowball fight duo.

But, he still had a back-up plan. He tossed one last snowball over the barricade before crawling onto his knees.

Fiddleford slowly peeked over the top of the car, barely allowing his eyes over the hood.

“Where’s Lee?” Stanford whispered, back pressed against the car door.

“I don’t know,” the engineer breathed, holding his snowball tighter, “maybe he’s just being quiet to see if he can lure us out.”

“Yeah, let’s see if we can edge around the perimeter and-”

Stanford was interrupted as Fiddleford screamed. An arm looped around the engineer’s waist, tugging the man backwards. He felt something cold pressed against his neck.

“I’ve got a hostage.” Fiddleford heard Stanley’s voice in his ear and deadpanned. “Don’t move or I will be forced to snowball him.”

“Snowball is not a verb, Stan.”

“Shhh! You’re a hostage, you’re not supposed to talk.”

Stanford played along, the corners of his mouth curling up as he dropped his ‘weapon’ and raised his hands in defeat. The boxer began to move backwards, Fiddleford trying to ignore the butterflies in his stomach as the man’s arm tightened around him.

No, he wouldn’t let his emotion’s take control over him, not just yet. He had some unfinished business to attend to.

And it seemed Stanley hadn’t notice he was still holding the snowball.

Fiddleford twisted in his grip, the two looking eye to eye for a moment before the engineer smashed the snow into the boxer’s face. Stanley gasped at the cold shock. He stumbled.

The man was open, giving Stanford the chance to deliver the final blow.  The snowball struck the boxer’s collarbone.

His sense of balance gone, Stanley tumbled backwards into the snow.

“Oh, you’ve killed me!” Stanley said dramatically, clutching a hand at his chest as he feigned choking noises. Fiddleford rolled his eyes good humoredly, crouching to sit beside the ‘dying’ man on the ground.  

“Oh, be quiet you big baby. It’s just a snowball.” Stanford called from his spot next to the car.

“Ford, I’m _literally dying_ and you’re still criticizing me.” Stanley turned back to the man above him as he grabbed the engineer’s gloved hand.

“Tell my wife and kids I-”

“You don’t have either of those.”

“Fine. Tell Ford he’s being a huge jerk, like the biggest jerk _ever_ , and tell Fidds I-” He made another gagging noise and flopped back down onto the ground, eyes closing as he stuck his tongue out. Fiddleford’s shoulders shook as he tried not to laugh, his free hand moving to cover his mouth.

“We had life insurance on him, right?” The engineer asked, the giggles finally escaping his lips. Stanley pulled his hand out of Fiddleford’s grasp, rolling to face away from the man.

“Okay, I see how it is.”

“Stanley, I’m sorry.” Fiddleford laughed, grabbing onto the man’s arm. “I just couldn’t _not_ make that joke.”

“The damage is done.” The boxer grumbled, sighing loudly as he rolled back onto his back, eagle spread. The man cracked one eye open. “But, I’ll forgive you if you give this dying man one last wish.”

“What is it?”

“Hot chocolate.”

Fiddleford broke out into a huge smile.

“Already done.”

“This is why I love you.” Stanley muttered under his breath, opening his other eye with a grin.

“Hmm? What did you say?”

“I said you’re a nerd.”

Fiddleford shook his head as he rolled his eyes again. Stanley never ceased to amuse him. He offered a hand to the boxer and helped pull the larger man back to his feet, heart skipping a beat when the other didn’t let go and instead kept their fingers firmly laced.

Stanford cleared his throat, the engineer turning red as the two turned their attention back to the scientist.

“If you two are done with your gross flirting, then I think it would be wise of us to head inside before we catch pneumonia.”

“Shut up or I’m gonna shove a snowball down your throat.” Stanley countered, he would scowl if he wasn’t so happy at the moment, hypersensitive of his hand in Fiddleford’s.

“Not if I lock you out of the house first.” Stanford tucked his hands behind his back, giving his brother a serious look.

The two locked eyes, then, all at once, bolted for the Shack’s front door, dragging the engineer along with them in their mad dash for the upper hand. Fiddleford, for once, actually didn’t mind being dragged into the twin’s escapades; Stanley’s hand was so warm in his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Bubbe is the Yiddish word for Grandmother.
> 
> Also, if you use hot water instead of milk in your hot cocoa i'm kinkshaming you


	5. December 21st: Mistletoe, Hearth, Blizzard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stanford sets things in motion by going out for groceries, leaving Fiddleford and Stanley alone.

Stanford had volunteered to go on a grocery run. They were in desperate need of supplies; the small fridge that occupied the kitchen looked as empty as a wasteland. A blizzard was coming, the whole town had been buzzing about it, and the locals had raided the supermarket dry. Stanford tugged on his trenchcoat. Even if it was slim pickings, one of them needed to go so they could prepare for the worst.

But the scientist had been sure to pull Stanley aside before he left.

“You need to tell him.” Stanford said sternly, putting a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I don’t get why you haven’t yet. Just push yourself a bit, your brain will release dopamine, and maybe your pheromones will match up and he will react as wanted. It’s simple, really.”

The boxer shrugged it off, crossing his arms as he moved away from his twin.

“Enough with the science. I-I’m working on it.”

“No,” Stanford insisted, following Stanley as the man tried to shake off his continuous badgering, “you aren’t. You just sit there all day, making puppy-dog eyes at him. I swear, sometimes I think you’re going to _drool-_ ”

“I’m just… waiting for the right time, ya know?” Stanley nervously ran a hand through his own hair. His bangs flipping forward as he slicked them back, once again become unruly.

“Well, now’s the time. I’ll be out of the house for a few hours, he won’t want to leave because of the storm, it’s cold inside and out… The stars are aligned. If you keep going like this, you won’t make your move until we’re 80. _So get on with it_.” Stanford clapped his brother on the back before grabbing the car keys.

“Oh, by the way,” Ford called as he opened the door, “I turned off the heat. I guess you two will have to make due.”

The boxer would have called his brother a wide variety of awful names if Fiddleford hadn’t picked that exact moment to come back downstairs. Stanford gave his twin a knowing grin before stepping outside.

Fiddleford stopped beside the boxer, still stretching from his recent nap.

“What was that about?”

Stanley suddenly found himself very sweaty.

“He’s just, uh, going to the store. And it will probably be a while because of, ya know, the snow and stuff.” Stanley wanted to slap himself. Of course the other man knew about the snow, he had eyes.

“We got the house all to ourselves?” The boxer’s heart beat faster as Fiddleford smiled up at him, the question innocent and all too unaware. Stanley sharply inhaled through his nose. No, he wouldn’t do anything today. It wasn’t fair; the engineer didn’t even have a clue. He didn’t want to spring this on him all at once. He felt his tense muscles slacken a bit at the resolution. Today would just be like any other, only they would be alone together.

Stanley nodded, “Since Ford’s gone we can break all his rules.”

“Don’t you do that anyways?” Fiddleford teased as he began to walk to the living room, Stanley followed closely behind.

“Yeah, but Ford’s constantly got a stick up his ass. And since I’m in charge, we can do whatever we want to.”

Fiddleford halted in front of the couch, turning on a heel to face the man again.

“So, we’re just going to watch Soap Operas, then?”

“ _No_ ,” Stanley asserted, rolling his eyes as he unceremoniously plopped down on the couch, “we’re gonna watch bad holiday films and try to stay warm.” Fiddleford paused for a moment before sitting down beside the boxer.

“Okay, but we get to watch ‘It’s A Wonderful Life’.”

“Deal.” Stanley nodded, a remote in hand as the engineer scooted closer to him. With the scientist out of the house, no one was there to make fun of their closeness. The boxer muttered a thanks to his brother under his breath, throwing a blanket over both of them before turning on the television.

\--

“Why do you like this movie so much?” Stanley asked, his words a bit muffled as he leaned his cheek against the top of the engineer’s head. Fiddleford was practically wrapped around the boxer, snuggled as close as possible for heat. At least, that’s what he told himself. To be fair, the thin blanket did very little and he swore he could see his breath even inside the house.

“Just because.” Fiddleford shrugged, keeping his head rested against his companion’s shoulder.

“I mean, it’s kind of a downer compared to other holiday movies.”

“It’s a redemption arc.”

“A what?” Stanley asked, moving his head to stare questioningly down at the smaller man.

“It’s a redemption arc.” Fiddleford repeated, begrudgingly moving his hands out from under the blanket to gesture. “The character does somethin’ unsavory, and gets to make up for it. Sometimes we get shown clues to why they act the way they do or what galvanized them.” At Stanley’s vacant stare he added, “We’re meant to empathize.”

“But the guy’s got the worst life!” Stanley said, watching as the credits rolled. “I mean, his dreams are dust, everything he’s wanted to accomplish has been taken away from him. He doesn’t even get to go on his _honeymoon_ because he uses the money to save a bank. Honestly it should be renamed, ‘It’s A Shitty Life’.”

“But he has people who love him.” Fiddleford said, staring at his shoes with a small smile. “He’s taken care of his family and in return they care very much for him, the whole town does. He doesn’t get to do what he originally wanted to do with his life, but he gained love. He loved others, and gained love in return. And I think that matters much more.”  

He fell silent, the final chords of music playing out before the TV went black. Stanley didn’t bother to put in a new tape, opting out to stay on the sofa. Fiddleford shivered, pulling the blanket tighter around himself before snuggling back against the boxer’s side.

Stanley moved his pinned arm, maneuvering it out from behind the engineer. He placed it over Fiddleford’s back, fingers brushing the back of the man’s neck in the process. The boxer whistled at how cold the other’s skin was.

“You comin’ down with something, Fidds?” He pressed his free palm into the smaller’s forehead, Fiddleford leaning into his warm touch.

“No, I’m j-just freezing.”

Stanley frowned. Of course the man would be colder than him; he had almost no meat on his bones. The engineer was practically a sentient bean pole. Just then, and idea struck him, and he realized what Stanford had been trying to push him into doing in the first place by turning off the heat.

“There’s a wood stove in my room.” He said slowly, tearing his eyes away from the other man. “I’ll start a fire and we could go pile in there. If you want, I mean. You don’t have to move. We could just stay here and watch more movies if you’re okay now, but-”

Fiddleford nodded rapidly, cutting the other off.

Moments later, the engineer rushed up the stairs, blanket still tightly wound around his shoulders as Stanley went to get wood. Luckily for him, there was still some left in the pile on the porch, just enough to last a couple more hours. It would have to do.

He got the fire started quickly enough; Stanley was aware you weren’t supposed to use so much lighter fluid, but he was just trying to get the room as warm as possible in a short amount of time.

They sat on the edge of his bed, Stanley too scared to move them anywhere closer to the center. He didn’t want to insinuate anything and scare the engineer away, it was just the most comfortable place to sit and still be warmed but the stove. Stanley tossed another log into the fire, orange flames blooming as it engulfed the wood.

When he returned to the edge of the mattress Fiddleford reassumed his position, pressed into the other’s side. Stanley cautiously snaked an arm around the man’s hip. When the engineer made no protest, he pulled the man closer.

“Thank you for getting us warm, Stan.” Fiddleford said quietly, sitting up straighter but not shifting himself away from the boxer.

“Not like I had much of a choice, you were sucking up all my body heat.” Stanley said with a snort.

“I’m sorry.”

The engineer’s giggles gave away that he wasn’t sorry at all, rather amused. He let the blanket go, the fabric loosely draped around his thin frame. Fiddleford playfully bumped his shoulder into the man next to him, the boxer responding by giving him a small shove back.

Stanley dug a free hand in his coat pocket, fingers reeling back as they caught on something prickly. He approached it with more caution, taking the item out of his pocket and carefully keeping it out of Fiddleford’s line of sight. Stanley eyed the mistletoe in his hand; he had forgotten completely that’s where he had hid it away after ridding the house of the horrid plant.

Seeing it now hit him with a sudden burst of confidence. Fiddleford was in his room, pressed into his side.

Maybe he _could_ do this.

He closed his fingers around his palm, effectively hiding the plant before unwrapping his arm from around the smaller man and scooting a few inches away. Fiddleford looked up at him with wide, searching eyes.

“What is it?” He asked, the concern in his voice making Stanley’s heart beat faster. The boxer swallowed thickly, his mouth feeling dry as a desert. It was now or never, he supposed.

“Fidds, I- I’ve been thinking…” He nervously scratched at his stubble, his other hand slowly moving between them, fingers unfurling to display the mistletoe inside. “I was thinking that maybe… we could try that mistletoe thing again?”

The engineer’s eyes darted from the plant in Stanley’s hand, to the boxer’s anxious countenance. And for a moment, Stanley felt his heart stop. The engineer was going to say no. He was deathly afraid he was going to fuck up their friendship again. His mind whirled, searching frantically for the perfect lie to excuse his behavior.

Fiddleford’s expression softened, the man leaning forward as he placed a hand on the side of the boxer’s face.

“Stanley,” he said, his blue eyes never leaving the other’s brown ones, “you don’t need mistletoe for us to do those things again. All you had to do was ask.”

“So… Does that mean we can kiss?” Stanley asked, feeling his the tip of his ears go pink as a grin spread across his face. He didn’t mind the heat flooding to his face; he could see the engineer’s doing the same.

Fiddleford answered him by closing the distance and pressing their lips together. Stanley kissed back just as tenderly, his mind blissfully blank. The boxer tossed the now useless mistletoe over his shoulder, lips tinging as the engineer laughed against them. Stanley’s arms enclosed around the other man, pulling him closer as they broke apart, both men laughing giddily.

Loving others and gaining love in return wasn’t so bad after all.

Stanley pressed a swift peck to the Fiddleford’s lips before pulling away again, resting his head in the crook of the smaller’s neck. He took a deep breath, engulfing himself in the warm feeling of the engineer’s skin before sighing happily. Fiddleford’s fingers snaked into the boxer’s hair.

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in the comfort that came from each other’s embrace, Stanley nuzzling into the engineer’s neck as Fiddleford played with his hair. He couldn’t think of a single place he’d rather be.

After a moment, the boxer sat back, pressing a kiss to the engineer’s collarbone before fully straightening up. Fiddleford looked about as happy as he felt, pupils dark and wide, a dazed smile gracing his lips. Stanley leaned close until their foreheads pressed together, breaking out into a wolfish grin as an idea popped into his brain.

“Hey, Fidds…” He breathed, fingers trailing up the engineer’s spine, making him shiver with something Stanley hoped was only partially because of the cold. “I’m just thinkin’ aloud here, but, I mean… We’re _already_ on my bed.”

Fiddleford rolled his eyes, hands leaving the boxer’s hair to rest on the man’s shoulders.

“Let’s do that later, once the room is warmed up a bit. But, until then, we _could_ cuddle.”

Stanley bit his lip as he tried not to laugh. It simply wasn’t fair that someone could be this adorable. There was nothing more he wanted to do than just scoop the engineer up and kiss him senseless. It hit him that, _holy shit_ , he _could_ do that now.

And with that thought, he tugged back the covers on his bed, pulled the engineer down and did just that.

Much later, when the sun had disappeared and the stars had blinked into view one by one, Stanford burst into his brother’s room.

“The store was _insane_. You would not believe what I had to do to get cereal. Cereal! A woman _bit me_ while her son watched and- Oh. I see my last hypothesis was correct.” The scientist froze mid-pacing, eyes quickly averting from his half naked, half-awake brother. It had been Fiddleford (hair mused in all different directions, shirt unbuttoned) who had told him off this time before locking the door and crawling back into the boxer’s open arms.

“If he’s usin’ us as data for some project I swear I’ll clip all the wires to the portal.” Fiddleford mumbled, southern drawl less restrained, the man obviously grumpy from being awoken from his peaceful sleep.

“I knew there was a reason I was I liked you so much.” Stanley muttered, yawning as he buried his face back into the engineer’s blond hair, and promptly fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How many cheesy lines can I fit into one one-shot? TOO MANY APPARENTLY. There's nothing I love more than cuddly, love-sick dorks.
> 
> Tomorrow's the last day of the Fiddlestan Holiday Bonanza, so expect the last ficlet to come out tomorrow as well! Thank you for reading.


	6. December 22nd: Challenge, Rest, Sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two get to have a lazy day in bed.

A shrill beeping sounded from the side of the bed.

“What is _that_?” Stanley groaned, pulling the engineer cuddled against him closer as if it would drown out the piercing noise. He blinked, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he searched for the source of the noise. He didn’t know what it was, but if it was about to interrupt his sleep cycle then the boxer was prepared to punch it until it stopped. Fiddleford only yawned in reply, managing to tug himself free from the other man’s arms just long enough to smack the snooze button before he was being pulled back in.

“It’s m’ alarm.” The engineer mumbled as he shifted, pressing his face into the crook of the boxer’s neck. Now that the beeping was gone, he could enjoy the other’s slow heartbeat again. He snuggled closer, his stomach giving an exciting flip as the boxer's arms settled securely around him.

“Why do you have an alarm set?”

“Portal.” Came the man’s one worded response, Stanley giving a small, happy hum as the engineer’s lips moved along his neck. “Ford wants me to work today.”

“Eh, fuck him. We’re having lazy day.”

“That's not nice..." Fiddleford muttered, and then after a pause asked, "What's that?”

Stanley rolled over on his back, tucking an arm behind his head and leaving the other pinned under the engineer. He knew someone was a keeper when he didn’t mind having limbs fall asleep for their comfort.

“You know, a day where you do nothing but relax and rest up?”

“So we get to stay in bed all day?” The engineer smiled sweetly, mind still bleary for sleep. Stanley nodded, thumb lazily dragging across Fiddleford’s hip, brushing across the warm exposed flesh.

The alarm clock screeched again. Stanley muttered a curse before shoving a pillow over his face to block out the awful sound. Fiddleford reluctantly sat up. He slapped his palm across the snooze button once more before diving back under the blankets like his life depended on it.

“Just unplug the damn thing.” The boxer’s words were muffled by the pillow; he wasn’t about to move it.

“But it’s freezin'! It’s practically 20 degrees in here.” Fiddleford whined.

Stanley responded by shoving his cold feet against the man’s exposed legs. The engineer yelped, nearly falling off the mattress. The boxer snickered, trying to stop himself from making fun of the extreme extents the other man went to keep warm. Fiddleford smacked the pillow over his face, before pulling it away altogether.

“Not funny.” The engineer glared down at the larger man. The boxer gave him the same look of practiced innocence Fiddleford knew he gave cops.

“It’s kinda funny.” Stanley said with a toothy grin, removing his hands from behind his head. The boxer wiggled his fingers in the air, shifting closer to the other man once again. The engineer gulped, knowing they were just as cold.

“Stanley Pines, don’t you dare.”

“Is that a challenge?”

Fiddleford opened his mouth to argue but stopped short as the boxer rolled on top of him, pinning the smaller to the bed. This would not have been unwelcomed, if not for the fact that the moment the he let his guard down, Stanley’s freezing hands slid under his shirt.

Fiddleford gasped, fumbling for a grip against the covers to pull back on, but the boxer held him tight. Stanley laughed as the engineer squirmed beneath him.

“What? I thought you liked this?” Stanley asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. His hands slid up higher on the man beneath him, fingers trailing lightly over his ribcage. The engineer shivered as another shock of cold ran down his spine. He swore once this was over, he was going to make the other sleep on the couch.

“You’re awful!” Fiddleford managed in between ragged breaths, pushing against the boxer’s shoulders with all his might. Stanley hardly faltered, his hands coming to rest on the engineer’s midriff as they warmed up.

“You don’t mean that.” The boxer said, voice lowering.

He leaned down to apologize with a kiss. Fiddleford was reluctant at first, but eventually gave in with a sigh. He followed along with the boxer’s slow pace.

A little suspicious that the other was scheming something else, the engineer came up with his own plan. Of course, he’d have to get the boxer’s defenses lowered before he could put it into action.

Fiddleford snaked his fingers into Stanley’s hair, letting his nails gently scrape along his scalp. The results came immediately; Stanley’s grip on his hips tightened, the boxer kissing more roughly. The engineer played along, not that he wasn’t enjoying this, the shocking comparison of warm lips to the cool air or the boxer’s hands anchoring him against the other man’s body. When Fiddleford’s teeth grazed the other’s bottom lip, he bit down.

Stanley’s breath hitched. The engineer knew he had him in the palm of his hand.

He tugged up on the boxer’s shirt, seemingly innocent enough. Stanley smiled smugly as he sat back, pulling it over his head and throwing it onto the floor. Now exposed, the engineer took his opportunity.

Fiddleford shoved his cold feet against Stanley’s stomach.

The boxer shrieked, scrambling backwards and off the side of the bed as he tried to get away. He fell, sprawled face first onto the carpet.

Laughter filled the air, Fiddleford’s loud snorting giggles, though much more pleasant than the alarm, only seemed to taunt the boxer. The volume increased as Stanley stood, frowning down at the man wrapped up in his blue sheets. The countenance was forced; no matter how angry he got he couldn’t help but enjoy the other’s laugh.

“Alright, alright, laugh it up. My pain is hilarious, I get it.” Stanley crossed his arms as he sat down on the edge of the bed again.

“But you did it twice as bad to me!” Fiddleford retaliated between laughs. He sat up, keeping the blanket tightly wound around himself as he rested next to the boxer, tucking his feet underneath him. The engineer suddenly paused, smile faltering in the silence.

“Stan, you’re not actually mad, are you?”

The boxer scoffed in response, his arms finding their way around the smaller man once again.

“Nah, I’m just teasing. Of course I’m not mad, I love you too much for th--”

Stanley froze. Fiddleford’s eyes widened. The boxer inwardly cursed himself, tearing his eyes away from the shocked man. Neither of them had used the L-word yet, and he certainly hadn’t been planning on being the first to say it. No, he had tip-toed around it, telling the engineer anything and everything but.

“You love me?” Fiddleford said almost inaudibly, Stanley forcing himself to meet that wide, doe-eyed look. The boxer felt his voice catch in his throat as he tried to think of something witty to say, some joke or a way to brush it off. But his mind was blank, his thoughts a stream of constant screaming.

“Y-Yeah.” He muttered, nodding his head.

 Fiddleford laughed again, quieter this time, before throwing his arms around the boxer’s shoulders.

“I love you too.”

Stanley sighed in relief, halfway through it turning into giddy laughter. The boxer thought he was going to have a heart attack; it definitely couldn’t be healthy to have so much stress thrown on him at once and then to have it all fade away in the blink of an eye, all while the engineer in front of him didn’t bat an eyelash.

He reached up a hand to cup Fiddleford’s cheek, slowly pulling the man against him, intending on giving the man the most passionate kiss of his life.

But the two were interupted.

The shrill beeping was back.

They both deadpanned.

Stanley stood, snatching the alarm clock up and pulling the cord out of the power outlet. In one smooth motion, he opened up the door, tossed the clock down the hall, and slammed the door behind him. The boxer turned around, speaking loudly to cover up the sound of the machine thumping down the stairs.

“So, how about that lazy day?”

Fiddleford snorted, taking the boxer’s hand and guiding him back to the bed. His heart beat faster in his chest.

That was all the answer Stanley needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand that about wraps it up for the Holiday Bonanza! I hope you all have a happy winter! Thanks for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll probably post this on my blog and in the tumblr tag in a few hours when all of my friends are asleep. Also, I might continue this?? Let me know what you think. It would probably be only three to four more entries following some of the other guidlines for other days. But I swear I'll get back to my main fic after this! It's just a nice little refreshing thing from all the angst. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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